Everything is Blue
by teamfreewifi
Summary: Maybe Nines wasn't as different from Connor as you once thought. Alternatively, "who knows how many creeps could be out here preying on women" / A Detroit: Become Human one-shot for RK900. Cross-posted.


"Everything is blue

His pills, his hands, his jeans

And now I'm covered in the colors pull apart at the seams"

\- Halsey

* * *

Jimmy's Bar was surprisingly lively at almost one in the morning on a Monday night. Apart from the usual crowd, there were a lot of personnel from the Detroit Police Department filling the bar and booths. You guessed that most of them, much like yourself, needed to drink away the last few stressful months.

Gavin Reed and that RK900 were sitting at the far end of the bar, away from where you sat with Hank Anderson and Connor. Honestly, you were as surprised as anyone when Reed warmed up to RK900 so quickly; he wasn't necessarily what you called the pro-android type.

The android was sitting as straight as a board, body angled towards Reed who was laughing at his own joke. You could see the RK900's LED swirling a steady blue. He was a near exact replica of Connor, the only differences being those icy grey eyes and the black-and-white CyberLife jacket.

You threw back a shot, savoring the slight burn that the alcohol left in your throat. For some reason, just thinking about that RK900 model left a foul taste in your mouth.

"I just don't like him."

"You've barely interacted with the guy, Y/N."

"Hank, I have a gut feeling about these things. I see shit — I don't like him."

"Y/N, what did the RK900 do to earn your distrust?" Connor asked, leaning around Hank who was seated between you two. "He really isn't that different from me."

You shook your head. "That's where you're wrong, buddy. Your specs might be similar, but you two couldn't be any more opposite." Staring down at your empty shot glass, you contemplated whether to get another one or not. You sighed, reluctantly making the responsible decision: "Water, please, Jimmy."

Connor turned forward, a hopeful gleam in his brown eyes. "Well, _I_ like him. RK900's not so bad once you get to know him. I mean, Detective Reed appears to like him enough."

"Point in case," you said, taking a sip from your water, "the two of them are practically made for each other. _That's_ the difference between you two, Connor."

Hank chuckled into his glass, shaking his head.

You squinted at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. "What's so funny, old man?"

"Nothin'," he replied, placing his glass down. "I was just remembering how you used to have a crush on Reed once upon a time."

You felt your face go red — in anger or embarrassment, you couldn't tell — and you were regretting not getting that extra shot. You huffed out, "In my defense, I was young and naïve, and that was before I realized how much of an absolute tool he was."

After another two hours of trying to sober up, you bid your goodbyes to Hank and Connor. "You'll take care of his drunk ass, won't you, Connor?" you asked, throwing on your jacket.

"I've got the lieutenant's keys," Connor affirmed, almost rolling his eyes at Hank, who was slumped over and mumbling to himself. "Will you be fine walking home on your own? Three AM in Detroit is not a particularly delightful time."

When Connor said that, you could have sworn that RK900 had stolen a glance in your direction. You chanced a look up at him, immediately regretting it the moment you met his eyes. God, as much as you hated to admit it, he was gorgeous. RK900 held your gaze for a moment, not missing a beat as he continued talking to Reed. Connor, noting your pause, turned to look behind him before facing you once more with a shake of the head.

Clearing your throat, you managed to say, "I live close. I'll shoot you a message when I get back." As you left the bar, you felt like you were being watched. And for some reason, it was the kind of feeling that you couldn't seem to shake off.

You had only been walking for about ten minutes when you passed one of the sleazier bars closer to your apartment. There were a few men milling about outside, and you dropped your gaze to the sidewalk as you sped past, trying to draw as little attention to yourself as possible. One of them started calling after you, and it wasn't long before a rough hand grabbed you by the arm.

"Hey, honey, where do you think you're going all alone, eh?"

You grimaced as the stench of alcohol and body odor attacked your nostrils. You wrenched your arm free, throwing him a look. "Not looking for any trouble, bud. Just trying to get home." The moment those words left you mouth, you knew you were in it deep.

The drunkard grinned a grin that made your blood run cold. It was like your brain blanked on all of your training. "Home, eh?" he said. "Looking for some company?"

You began to back away from him, already calculating a longer route to your apartment just in case the creep decided to follow you. "Not in particular. I'm just gonna—"

He grabbed your arm again, his grip stronger. "What, d'you not want _this_, babe? I could make you scream all night l—"

"Leave them alone."

You noticed that you three were alone outside. The others must have slunk out of sight and into the bar. The drunkard turned around, letting you go. You felt both relief and surprise wash over you when you saw RK900 towering behind the man, face stern and eyes narrowed. _Had he been following me this whole time? Why?_

Maybe it was because the guy was drunk, but he squared up with the android, sneering up at him. "What'cha gonna do about it, Tin Can? Huh?" The man shoved his chest, and he staggered back a step.

RK900's LED swirled yellow. His eyes flickered to you, stood frozen, before returning to the man. With a steely calmness, RK900 said in warning, "I would advise you to go back inside before you make things worse."

"_Fuck you_, you sunuva—" The man took a swing at RK900, and you cringed when a loud _crack_ sounded.

There was a pause. Blue blood slowly trickled from his nose, and he wiped it with his jacket sleeve, staining the white blue. When the man winded up to take another swing, RK900 blocked his attempt, punching him in the gut hard enough to send him to his knees.

"Fucking android," the drunkard gasped out, coughing.

Walking around him, RK900 said in monotone, "Send any complaints you may have to the Detroit Police Department." He approached you, almost scanning over you. Or maybe he _was_ scanning you. Quietly, he asked, "Are you okay, detective?"

Looking past RK900 to the man who was getting to his feet and retreating into the bar, you whispered a weak, "Fine. I'm fine."

"You still have nine minutes before you reach your apartment," he said matter-of-factly, probably linking to the department's database to find your address. You didn't have the thought to chastise him for looking into your files. "Allow me to accompany you to ensure your safety."

Knowing he likely already logged this little side-mission into his mind palace, you didn't complain. The two of you walked the empty streets of Detroit in a comfortable silence. Whatever meek distaste you had for this android had melted away to solid respect. Frankly, you were grateful that he had eavesdropped on your conversation with Connor because who knows what could have happened to you if he hadn't been there.

When you both stopped at a crosswalk, you stole a glance at RK900. He had both hands shoved into his pockets, the blue stain on his white jacket a stark contrast to his black dress pants. His grey eyes were trained to the abnormally clear sky, expression calm and relaxed. The LED on temple was a steady, bright blue. He even looked like a fucking Rembrandt painting with the way the red light danced across his cheeks. You turned away in embarrassment when you realized that he was staring back at you curiously, his perfect lips forming into a line.

His LED had flashed yellow — or maybe you imagined it. You released an awkward cough when the light changed, and you both stepped forward.

"Thank you… by the way," you said to him out of the blue. You cleared your throat, clarifying, "For what you did back there."

"There is no need." His head was trained forward, but his eyes briefly darted to your face. "It is within my programming to protect a fellow detective."

Right. His _programming_. The reason _why_ you had disliked him for so long. You've noticed that programming made him armored and calculated; a fierce soldier in a fire fight and even scarier than Connor in the interrogation room. It unnerved you by how cold and dismissive RK900 acted because it was the exact opposite of Connor's warmth and acceptance.

Which is why you asked what you did: "Does your programming also tell you to follow detectives home just in case they get into some trouble?"

You saw it then — the small smirk that pulled at a corner of his mouth. A crack in his armor. "No, no it doesn't," he answered pensively.

The silence resumed, but it wasn't long before you made it to the steps that led up to your apartment building. You and RK900 awkwardly stood in front of each other for a few moments, unsure of what to do. Because you two were not friends, and even then, barely acquaintances.

"Well uh, thanks for getting me home safe." Your eyes darted to the thirium once again. "And sorry for the punch, too, RK900."

"Nines. Please, call me Nines."

A small smile crept to your lips. You secretly wondered if Reed had given the nickname or if he chose it himself. You mumbled a quiet "good night" before walking towards the steps. You had only gotten up two before RK900 — _Nines_ called for you.

"Wait, detective."

You turned then, the breath getting caught in your throat because you were eye-level with him now and his lips were only slightly parted with words that he couldn't get out. In that moment, you knew that he could see the pink tint to your cheeks just as clearly as you saw the blue hue in his.

"Yes, Nines?"

He inhaled, trying out a smile. "See you tomorrow."


End file.
